


A Wild Rose

by fms_fangirl



Series: Jealous Time [1]
Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-01
Updated: 2015-07-01
Packaged: 2018-04-07 05:03:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4250385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fms_fangirl/pseuds/fms_fangirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Undertaker catches a cold and Grell nurses him.</p>
<p>The Series name is from Oscar Wilde:</p>
<p>"Time is jealous of you, and wars against your lilies and your roses."</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Wild Rose

**Author's Note:**

> Grell identifies as female. I, therefore, use the feminine pronoun. Others, who insist on viewing her as male in the context of this story, use the masculine.

Undertaker lived in a world of black and grey, relieved only by an occasional flash of silver and the white of bleached bones. Undertaker existed mostly in a world of silence and muted sensation, hoping for little more than passing amusement in his encounters with outsiders such as that provided by the little earl and his demon butler.

But, as of late, a vivid splash of crimson had entered his world. Grell Sutcliff’s ability to deceive even him, in the guise of an inept butler, had filled him with admiration and subsequent encounters had him rocking with silent laughter at the memory. Grell provided him with considerable amusement – something far too rare in his long existence – and he had found himself watching the red reaper with great interest.

He had heard the Grell was amoral, savage and capable of great cruelty and knew these things to be true. He had seen that Grell was fierce, bold and outrageous and every time he glimpsed the scarlet figure he grew more intrigued and looked forward to their next meeting with increased anticipation.

That particular morning, however, he was not feeling quite like himself. He had awakened later than normal, wracked with aches and pains; his head was pounding and he shook with a dry, harsh cough.

“Silly old bugger,” he mumbled to himself, “you’ve gone and caught The Cold.”

Reapers rarely became ill and, with the exception of the Thorns of Death, could shake off most ailments in a matter of hours. But not The Cold. Even the most dignified and revered of their kind turned into a mewling infant at the first symptoms and even the most stoic and phlegmatic usually took to their beds, whining about their stuffy noses and sore throats. A rumour existed that William T. Spears had been found sleeping under his desk, sucking his thumb, when brought down by The Cold several years ago.

There was nothing to do but brew some tea and return to bed. He was making his way to the kitchen when he heard a loud clatter in the shop. Sighing to himself, he left his living quarters. Undertaker had no fear of intruders, but, right now, he was just too tired and miserable to have to deal with some foolish thief. This one was going to be very sorry, he thought as he entered the shop.

Grell was just picking herself up from the floor, rubbing her behind. “Really!” she exclaimed. “Do you have to have your clutter all over the floor like this?” She kicked one of the coffins. “I nearly broke my neck tripping over this thing when I portaled in.”

“Well, my dear,” he chuckled, “maybe you should have knocked at the door.”

She sniffed and tossed her hair back. “I misjudged a bit. I would never drop in uninvited; I am a lady, you know.”

“Indeed I do.” He was interrupted by a series of loud sneezes, “And although it is always a pleasure to see you, I cannot help but wonder to what I owe this unexpected treat.”

“The Head Librarian is on the rampage,” she said, rolling her eyes. “It seems Auditing has been with him for the past week. You have several volumes, one of which is twenty-three years overdue.” She perched herself on a casket and crossed her legs, swinging her foot back and forth, “So, he was all set to send someone from Delinquent Accounts after you. Then William got involved, saying it wouldn’t be proper to send a Collector after such a respected and venerable individual.”

“So they sent you instead. I am delighted,” he rasped.

“Not quite. I have a few jobs not far from here today. William suggested that I drop in and remind you. He said, and I quote, ‘You are to remind Undertaker, while showing the utmost respect, that he must have inadvertently forgotten to return these books.’” She grinned wickedly at him.

Undertaker blew his nose loudly. “Oh dear. I guess I should return them, but I’m not feeling terribly well right now.”

“So I see. Got The Cold, have you?”

He nodded. “I don’t suppose I could persuade you to take them back for me?” He pushed his hair back from his eyes and gave her his most devastating smile, ruining the effect with a fit of coughing.

“Oh you wicked man!” Grell giggled. “You know I can’t resist you when you look at me like that.”

“Then you’ll do it?”

“All right, but I can’t do it today. I have four jobs in town and another in the country tonight. I’ll stop by tomorrow and collect them.”

“My dear, I am forever in your debt.” He began to hack again, almost bent double by the force of his coughing.

Grell hopped down from the coffin. “Oh dear,” she said, putting her arm around him, “maybe I should take you back home. You need someone to look after you.”

“I’d rather not,” he gasped between coughs. “They can’t do anything for The Cold and if word got out I was there…”

“Half the Shinigami would find some excuse to drop by to gawk at the legendary Undertaker,” she replied with a fresh outbreak of giggles. “You’re lucky most of them avoid the Library like the plague.” She began to laugh harder. “William would be at your side constantly, offering you fresh hankies and nourishing broth.”

Undertaker began to wheeze with laughter. “Precisely. William has many fine qualities, but I don’t see him as a ministering angel. You, however, are a different matter.”

“Oh give it up, you old flatterer! I said I’d return your books for you. Now let’s get you to bed and I’ll make you a pot of tea.” She glanced around the shop. “You do have a proper bed here somewhere, I hope.”

“Yes, through here.” He pushed open the door that led to the back half of the establishment, enjoying her surprise at his comfortably furnished quarters.

“Well, that’s a relief,” she retorted, putting a kettle on the stove and measuring tea leaves into the pot. “The idea that you slept in one of those coffins all the time is rather ghoulish.”

“Ah! But I am an old ghoul. Isn’t that what people say?” He settled himself in an armchair next to a small fireplace.

Grell carried a tray with the teapot, cup and saucer, sugar and milk and a tea strainer and even a plate of his bone-shaped biscuits to a low table near the chair. “People say a great deal of nonsense in my experience.”

Her hair curtained her face; Undertaker couldn’t read her expression, but was surprised by the wistful tone of her voice.

“Now you must promise that, once you’ve had your tea, you’ll go to bed and get some rest.” She placed one hand on her hip and wagged her forefinger at him. “I shall be very cross if you are not a great deal better when I come tomorrow.”

After enduring another coughing fit, Undertaker shook his hair back and smiled at her as best he could, given his watering eyes and streaming nose. “My dear, I swear I shall do my best to recover so that I may show you my gratitude for your many kindnesses today.” He caught her hand and brushed his lips against her knuckles. “The knowledge that I shall see you soon is surely the best medicine I could have.”

“Really,” she trilled, “and people say that I flirt!” She pulled a watch from her pocket. “Gracious! Is that the time? I simply must fly, darling, but I shall be back tomorrow.” She gave his hand a squeeze and fled.

A soft thud told him Grell was making her way to her destination on the rooftops. She was so bold and fearless, he thought, defying every convention that a reaper should be as silent and invisible as possible. But, to human eyes, she would be no more than a scarlet blur. He could hear the roar of her chainsaw in the distance. So outrageous and flamboyant! And yet she had coloured up so sweetly when he took her hand and had shown him such kindness and concern.

He felt truly wretched; he was beginning to burn with fever and was already weak from coughing. Unable to do more than sip at his tea, he hobbled to his bed and lay on top of the covers, smiling to himself over the day’s unexpected visitor.

XXXXXXXXXX

It was nearly dawn when Grell returned to London. There had been nothing notable about the reapings of the previous night, but something about the final job had filled her with a vague sense of disquiet. She had made a note in the file, but knew William would dismiss it as one of her fanciful notions. She was sure, however, that these notions had saved her skin on more than one occasion and wondered sometimes why they were not trained better in these matters.

The stalls in the market were opening. Slipping into an alley, she took a deep breath and concentrated. When she was satisfied that she had modified her appearance enough to move among the humans without comment, she ventured forth. She purchased a pretty little pot of honey from one and pounced on several lemons available at another. _“A nice hot lemon drink, sweetened with honey, will help her ladyship feel better.”_ Grell began to tremble. Blindly handing several coins to the woman, she fled.

Memories of her former existence were usually dreadful. But this had been different; she had been in a warm, comfortable place; had felt safe and contented and loved. A good reaper had no memories, but she was rarely considered a good reaper. She hugged the memory close to herself, humming as she covered the short distance to Undertaker’s shop.

She was relieved to discover the door was unlocked. Climbing through a window would be extremely undignified and portaling through a door seemed overly dramatic, even for her. “Hello dear,” she called out. “It is I, your angel of mercy.” She burst into the back room and stopped short. Undertaker lay fully clothed on his bed, his hat hanging on one of the bedposts.

“Good heavens, look at you!” she exclaimed, laying a hand against his cheek. “You’re burning up.”

He slowly opened his eyes. “On fire with delight at seeing you again,” he croaked.

“You can lavish with me compliments later,” she sniffed. “For now, we need to bring down your fever.”

“And just how do you intend to do that?” he asked, smiling faintly.

Grell could see the glint of humour in his extraordinary eyes, visible through the silver veil of his hair. “By giving you a sponge bath, of course,” she grinned. “And don’t you dare argue with me or I shall snatch you into my arms and portal you back to the infirmary. They have a new doctor who is sure that he can cure The Cold with enemas. Poor Ronald had The Cold last month. It took him another two weeks to recover from the treatment.”

Undertaker laughed weakly. “I would never argue with a lady.”

“Good.” She stripped off her coat, gloves and waistcoat and rolled up her sleeves. “Once you’re bathed I’ll fetch you a nice drink. You’ll be much more comfortable, I’m sure. Now,” she continued as she filled a basin with water, “do you think you can undress yourself or shall I do it for you?” She pulled off her striped neck ribbon and used it to tie her hair back.

“I think I can manage.” He pulled his sash over his head and handed it to Grell, who hovered over him.

“Gracious!” she complained as he opened button after button. “How many robes have you got on anyway?”

She help him remove one layer after another and caught her breath at the sight before her. Her mouth fell open and her tongue poked out from between her teeth.

“My dear,” Undertaker grinned, “if you keep looking at me like that I shall forget how ill I am and do something about it.”

“I don’t quite think you have the strength right now,” she retorted with an answering grin. To cover her embarrassment, she began chattering. “These boots are awfully – interesting,” she said as she began to undo the many buckles. “I could fancy a pair myself.”

“And I have no doubt you would look charming in them.” He sighed as she began to sweep the cloth across his arms and shoulders and trickle cool water onto his chest.”

“I would look devastating in them,” she stated. Grell wrung out the cloth and propped him into a sitting position. She swept his hair over his shoulder and bathed his back with long, firm strokes. His body was like moonlit marble, but his skin was so soft and smooth, ridged with occasional scars. She felt a faint thrum below, but a prolonged fit of coughing brought her back to the task at hand.

“Oh no!” she insisted as he attempted to reach for his robes when she had finished. “You are not putting that fusty old thing on again.” She handed him a garment she had retrieved from a large wardrobe against the wall.

“You are fortunate that I haven’t the strength to argue with you right now,” he grumbled as he drew it over his head. “I haven’t worn a nightshirt in centuries. Don’t you dare try to make me wear a nightcap.”

Grell began to giggle at the incongruous sight of the venerable Undertaker clad in a nightshirt. “I wouldn’t dream of it, darling. Here, put this on as well. You’ll look ever so dashing.” She proffered a black velvet dressing gown, trimmed with fur, and guided him to the armchair. “You stay there while I fetch you a hot drink and change your sheets.”

She bustled around for the next fifteen minutes as he sipped at his honey and lemon, chatting all the while. “You know, I had The Cold a few years ago. It was horrid. I know we don’t _need_ to breathe, but the feeling that you can’t is frightful.”

“I sincerely hope that you received as good care as you are giving me.”

“Not exactly.” She turned her face away, her words muffled by the pile of linen she was carrying. “They wouldn’t have me in the infirmary. I was delirious with fever and I was raving dreadfully. They were afraid I might bite.” She bared her teeth. “Of course, it was a bit dreary in my flat, but I recovered soon enough.”

“And no one stopped by to check up on you?”

“Why would they?” She plumped pillows with great energy. “As William says, ‘Reapers don’t have friends.’” Keeping her face averted, she smoothed the sheets. “But he was very good about getting my sick pay put through.”

Undertaker caught her hand as she flitted by. “My dear, you must promise me that the next time you are ill you will call on me. I should very much enjoy stripping you down and caring for you.” His eyes gleamed green-gold at the prospect.

“Really darling!” she cooed. “I shall be horribly disappointed if you wait until I’m sick to do that.”

He pulled her onto his lap and tipped her chin up with a long, black fingernail. “What a shame if you were merely flirting with me,” he said quietly.

Grell blinked. Undertaker’s usual expression of sardonic amusement had disappeared. A tingle ran up her spine and she felt herself flush. She was fumbling for a reply when the bell over the door of the shop jingled.

“Senpai? Are you here?” a voice called.

“Good heavens! It’s Ronald.” She leapt up. “Back here, dear.” She was unable to restrain a grin at the young reaper’s confusion as he took in the scene: her own dishabille, Undertaker, clad for bed and the invitingly turned down sheets. “Do come in dearie. Have you met Undertaker?” she asked innocently. “He’s a legend.”

“How d’you do, sir,” he mumbled. “William sent me to find you. He’s dead annoyed you’re not back.”

“You can just tell William that I’m indisposed for a day or two,” she sniffed. “Tell him it’s my time of the month.” She could see Undertaker shaking with silent laughter as Ronald turned scarlet. “And be a dear and take these back to the Library.” She scooped up a heavy pile of books and handed them to him, placing a thick file on top. “Here’s my report on last night’s jobs. Make sure William gets that as well.” Before the younger reaper knew what was happening, she had hustled him out the door and locked it behind him.

“Minx!” Undertaker gasped when she returned. “You enjoyed that!”

“I certainly did,” she giggled. “Now, would you care to make a wager as to how long before William shows up? Unless you want to see me demoted to a pair of embroidery scissors, I would suggest that you get into bed and look as sick as possible.”

“Of course,” he replied, casting off the dressing gown and sliding between the sheets. “But we must continue our previous conversation,” he added meaningfully. “Unless you’d care to join me here now and give William a real shock when he arrives.”

She became serious. “Actually, no. William’s opinions of my morals are terribly low. I’d rather not make them worse by having him think I seduced a legend while he was ill.” With trembling fingers, she re-tied her neck ribbon and fussed with her waistcoat buttons.

“Are you afraid of William?” he asked gently.

“Not exactly, but…” How could she explain the years of trying to penetrate William’s indifference with increasingly outrageous behaviour until she was trapped in a persona that excited nothing but disgust in him and the rest of her colleagues?

“Are you in love with him?”

“Not anymore,” she said softly. “I killed my feelings for him and gave them to someone else; became the savage creature he always believed me to be. I thought I had found a fitting mate for a thing like me and when she disappointed me, I killed her.”

“Oh my poor dear,” Undertaker sighed, “to have so much love to give and no one worthy of it.”

“Don’t be silly,” she said in a brittle voice, shaking out her wild hair and putting on bravado with her red coat. “I’m not what you’d call lovable; never have been. Father always said…” Her voice trailed off. The memory and the words were just beyond her grasp, but the hurt was as fresh as the day she had heard them the first time.

She had been too intent on her conversation to hear the slight rush of air that accompanied a portal being opened and was unprepared to brace herself when a pair of pruning shears smacked against her head. It didn’t really hurt; William rarely put much force behind the blow, but the disdain of the gesture brought sudden tears to her eyes.

“Grell!” William thundered, “Can’t you be trusted even to deliver a simple message without making a fool of yourself and this Office?” He grasped her roughly by her hair. “I do apologize, sir, if he has been making a nuisance of himself.”

In a movement so fast neither saw it, Undertaker had William backed against the wall, the blade of his Death Scythe against his throat. “That will be quite enough, Spears!” he rasped. “Miss Sutcliff is a guest in my home. I must insist that you treat her with courtesy.” The effect might have been somewhat lessened by the nightshirt flapping around his legs, but there was no mistaking his intent.

“Now look what you’ve done!” Grell scolded, torn between gales of laughter and concern as Undertaker convulsed with another coughing fit. “You get right back into bed.” She took his arm, ignoring the deadly blade, and pulled him across the room. Their eyes met, glistening with tears of mirth, while she tucked him back under the covers.

Then she turned on William. “As you can see,” she said in the snootiest, most offended tone she could muster, “Undertaker has The Cold. I discovered this when I delivered your message and stayed to care for him. Of course, if you would prefer that I leave such a respected and legendary figure alone and sick, I shall be on my way.”

“No – no,” William stammered. “You were entirely correct.” He addressed Undertaker. “Would you allow me to send a Shinigami nurse to tend to you? I understand that current treatment of The Cold in the infirmary is not to everyone’s taste.”

“I’ll say,” Grell interrupted, “poor Ronnie couldn’t sit for a week.”

“Nevertheless,” he continued, glaring at Grell, “you should have proper care.”

“Grell is providing me with superb care; far better than she received, I understand. I couldn’t ask for a better nurse.”

“Then that’s settled. Do run along, William,” Grell said sweetly. “I can hear the paperwork piling up on your desk from here.”

“Very well, but if he starts to be a bother, don’t hesitate to send him away or call for me.” With that he opened a portal and vanished.

“Oh my!” she said, collapsing into the armchair. “You were wonderful, darling. I don’t suppose you could manage to be sick for a good, long time?”

Undertaker propped himself on his elbow and faced her. “Does he always treat you like that?”

“You mean whacking me with his Scythe? It’s not usually very hard.”

“Not just that. The way he speaks to you and about you.”

“I usually deserve it,” she sighed.

He blew his nose loudly. “No, you don’t. You’ve committed some awful crimes, I agree, but for the rest… You’re bold and outrageous. How does that give him or the rest of them the right to behave that way?”

“You don’t understand,” she said softly. The words that had been fluttering around the edge of her mind fell into place. “I’m a mistake. I should never have existed like this and here I am, cursed with eternal existence, punished for trying to correct the mistake.” She swiped the back of her hand angrily against her cheeks.

“Oh my darling,” he whispered, “come here.” He patted the bed next to him and gathered her slight figure into his arms. “Never call yourself a mistake. You are as the Higher Up made you and, therefore, perfect.”

She buried her head in his chest, slowly relaxing as his long fingernails scratched gently against her scalp and he stroked her hair. “But I don’t fit in. Not here or… before.”

“Neither do I, my dear,” he murmured against her hair. “Neither do I.”

XXXXXXXXXX

Undertaker knew Grell felt embarrassed about the encounter with William; she might try to laugh it off, but William’s open scorn for her cut her deeply. He also knew she felt foolish about her moment of vulnerability after he left. In consequence, he meekly submitted to her command that he take a nap and handed over a key to the shop when she announced that she was going to buy provisions for dinner.

To his surprise, he slept for several hours and woke to all sorts of appetizing smells. Donning the dressing gown she had laid at the foot of the bed, he made his way to the kitchen, pausing in the doorway, spellbound by the sight that met his eyes. Grell had cast off her coat and waistcoat again and the top buttons of her shirt were open. She was enveloped in a red and white striped apron that reached her ankles and her hair was tied back in a loose braid. Humming to herself, she seemed to be in several places at once: slicing a cooked chicken that rested on a carving board, stirring a pot on the stove and chopping vegetables and adding them to the boiling liquid.

His sudden cough alerted her to his presence. “What are you doing out here?” she scolded. “And in bare feet? Don’t you want to get better?”

“And lose my charming nurse? I dread feeling well again. I thought I might go for a nice long stroll in the rain.”

“Get back in there this minute,” she ordered. “And put something on your feet. You are making me very cross.” She glared at him.

“Please,” he begged. “Let me stay and watch you. I’m feeling much better and it’s lovely and warm in here. I’ll sit quiet as a mouse in the corner, I promise.”

“All right, but if you have a relapse, I’m sending William to deal with you.”

He settled himself in a chair and gazed about. The sheets she had stripped from the bed were hanging on a line as were his robes. “You did my washing?”

“Somebody had to,” she said as pulled little jars down from shelf and sniffed the contents. Placing a pinch from one in the pot, she continued, “I don’t think your robes had been washed since Her Majesty’s coronation.”

“Very likely,” he agreed with a smile.

“You should hire a maid or, at the very least, a charwoman,” she fussed. “There are plenty of women in this part of town who would be glad for honest work.”

“You are correct, my dear, but no one wants to come and work for a spooky old man like me. The best I could get is some old harridan who would frighten even your friend Sebastian. I might have no choice but to keep you here against your will.” He attempted, and failed completely, to look menacing.

“Really darling! Do you promise?” She pranced over to him and held out her wrists. “Will you keep me chained in your basement and let me out only to cook and clean and have your wicked way with me? Take me now!”

He took her wrists in an iron grip. “Don’t tempt me you vixen.”

She gave an exaggerated shiver and freed herself. “It might be fun for a year or two, but, after that, I think I would be plotting ways to kill you.”

“I think you would, too, but, at least, I wouldn’t die from boredom.”

Grell began to ladle the soup into bowls. “You go back there and clear off the little table,” she told him. “I’ll bring this in a moment.”

He hastened to do her bidding and, casting a glance at the kitchen, opened a little door that led to his tiny garden. It took only a second to find what he sought and he was pulling another chair to the table when she entered, bearing a tray with their meal.

She looked entrancing, he thought. She had discarded the apron and her shoes, padding across the room in stocking feet. Her shirt was untucked and rumpled and hung loosely around her slender torso. As she placed the bowls and a plate of bread on the table, he could see her cheeks were flushed pink from the heat of the kitchen. She looked so sweetly dishevelled; he was enchanted.

“For you,” he said, producing a flower whose red petals faded to pink and white at its heart. “A wild rose, not unlike yourself.”

“Oh you naughty man!” she cried. “You went outside!”

“Just a step and just for a moment.” He pushed his hair back. “Please say you forgive me.”

“It’s not fair,” she grumbled. “You know I’ll melt whenever you do that, so stop your foolishness and eat your soup before I dump it over your head.”

“Of course, but first…” He carefully stripped the thorns from the rose and reached across to tuck it in her hair, feeling even more foolishly besotted as her huge green-gold eyes sparkled and she flushed a deeper shade of pink.

She was watching him anxiously as he took his first spoonful; flavours exploded in his mouth: rich chicken broth, tender shreds of meat and subtle spices. “This is excellent,” he said. “I would never have imagined you were so domestically capable.”

Grell put down her spoon and leaned forward. “The kitchen was always my favourite place. I spent hours watching Cook and Mother always said…” She stopped and blinked in confusion.

“My dear, are you remembering?”

She nodded. “I don’t know why, but it has been happening a great deal lately. More than just the stray image.”

“Have you mentioned this at the Office?”

“Heavens no!” she exclaimed. “They already think I’m already odd enough. And you know what they said about remembering in training.”

“It can be very dangerous, I agree. But there must be a reason why it is happening to you.”

She sniffed and spread butter on a slice of bread. “More proof I’m not fit to be a reaper. Whenever I annoy William he threatens to have me transferred to Maintenance; he’s probably right.”

Undertaker could feel his usual calm desert him. “He does, does he? I’m beginning to wish I’d used my Scythe earlier. The idea of you in Maintenance!”

“Well darling, you said yourself I’m quite domestic.” She pushed the bread in his direction. “I’d likely do well enough cleaning the offices or in catering; there’s no shame in it.”

He forced himself to keep his voice level. “You know as well as I do that Spears was not suggesting that you become a cleaner.”

“Yes dear, I know what he was implying. Everyone knows the other services Maintenance supplies. We simply don’t talk about it. But I doubt I would be considered suitable except for someone who wanted a bit of the strange.” She pushed a stray wisp of hair away. “Now, if you don’t care for any more soup, I shall fetch the pudding.” She snatched up their bowls and left the room.

From the set of her shoulders, he could tell was upset by their conversation. But so was he. Grell had conspired to commit some of the most vicious murders in the nation’s history and turned on her accomplice with savage glee. He had reaped by her side the night of the fires and witnessed the barbaric joy she took in the task. He had no doubt she could be infuriating and aggravating. She was a force of nature; she would always wreak havoc.

He shivered, imagining the consequences if she ever decided that she hated William with the same passion she had loved him. Fool! Trying to tame a wild creature with blows and unkindness and harsh words. She was fierce and loyal and passionate and she had shown him gentleness, kindness and sweetness. He had found her interesting and intriguing for a long time, but now he knew her to be lovable.

XXXXXXXXXX

The Cold had almost loosened its grip on him; he had no doubt he would be fully recovered in another day. At Grell’s insistence, he had spent the rest of the day quietly ensconced in his armchair reading. Her comments about remembering disturbed him and he poured over his books trying to discover what it signified.

Memories were dangerous things for reapers. Every year, at least one trainee was culled because memories of his past were too vivid. His own were so vague and rare as to be non-existent. But to visited by them suddenly… He itched to make a trip to the Library and smiled to himself. Grell would have to return to the Shinigami soon; he foresaw several vital expeditions to that world for himself.

It was growing dim. She had already scolded him for reading in the dark and brought the lamp closer and was currently curled in his other chair leafing through a novel, occasionally letting out a stream of giggles.

“Have you read this one?” she asked, waving _The Curse Upon Mitre Square_ at him “It’s all about Jack the Ripper. It’s too funny.”

“I believe it was in the pocket of one of my guests from a few weeks past. I don’t imagine it’s terribly accurate,” he said with a grin.

“What about this? It’s called _The Demon’s Bride_. Some ridiculous girl falls head over heels for a demon and reforms him through the power of true love,” she scoffed. “And they don’t even describe the good bits.”

“Perhaps you should take pen to paper, my dear. I have no doubt a novel written by you would be terribly entertaining.”

“It couldn’t be worse than this drivel.” She yawned widely.

“You must be tired. You worked so hard today. You were cleaning in the kitchen earlier, weren’t you?”

“You had food in there that must have been bought before the Battle of Waterloo.”

“Then we shall retire. This bed is quite large and I promise to behave myself.”

“Oh what a pity!” she pouted. “But I really didn’t fancy sleeping in one of your coffins out there.”

She climbed out of the chair and went to rummage in the wardrobe, slipping out of the room. She returned a few minutes later, clad in another ancient nightshirt that swamped her adorably, he thought. Sitting cross-legged on the bed, she began to brush her hair.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Of course, my dear.”

“Are you the oldest Shinigami still alive?”

“No.”

“Really?” Her eyes widened. “Who are the others? I suppose they’re on the Council. Or are they retired like you?”

“One or two are on the Council. There are several, who have left to pursue other interests. One is here in London, in fact.” He held up his hand to forestall her question. “And no, I will not tell you where he is. His privacy is important to him, but he does an occasional service for the Dispatch. His talents are rather specialized.”

“What about the others? They must be very highly placed.”

“They are.” He climbed onto the bed, took the brush from her and began to run it through her hair with long, smooth strokes. “They communicate with the Messengers and learn the Will of the Higher Up.”

“Messengers?” Her head tipped back to rest against his shoulder and she closed her eyes, sighing with pleasure.

“Humans call them angels and they are nothing like that creature we encountered last year.” Her hair was so vibrant, it crackled with life, but felt like silk under his hands.

“Have you ever come across one? What are they like?”

“Yes, I have and they are quite insufferable on the whole, but I suppose being around the Higher Up all the time must be awfully hard work. Imagine being around an infinite number of Williams, who didn’t just think they were perfect, but actually were.” The nightshirt was missing several buttons at the neckline and had slipped down her shoulder. He could see the pulse in her throat and was beginning to regret his promise.

She laughed softly. “I can think of another name for a realm like that. But tell me more. Every time I tried to ask questions in training, I was told it was not my business to inquire about these things.”

Undertaker smiled at the memory of the Head Librarian raging at the effrontery of a red-headed trainee demanding access to the most ancient and arcane volumes in his care. “I remember hearing about an impudent youngster, who wouldn’t stop asking questions. What happened? Why did you stop?”

“No one would answer. I was confused. Then I was frightened.” Her eyes opened and she shifted position to face him. “You know what they say happens to trainees who are culled?” At his nod, she continued, “I don’t know if it’s true, but I didn’t want to find out. So I stopped asking. I pretended I couldn’t remember.” She smiled faintly. “Yes darling, I’ve been remembering since I was a trainee. I always was a superb actress. Eventually, I just became angry.”

“My poor dear, I shall try to answer your questions. It’s a sin the way they attempt to crush your spirit.” He leaned back against the pillows and cradled her in his arms.

“Those Shinigami who communicate with the Messengers, what are they like?”

“Very wise and very discreet. They move among you at the direct command of the Higher Up and you do not know they are there. William had one doing his filing for a week once.”

“Good heavens!” She burst out laughing. “You mean that poor fellow he shouted at all the time? Why on earth did he put up with it?”

“Because it was the Will of the Higher Up that he be there. Did anything extraordinary happen?’

Grell thought for a moment. “Why yes! There was a young reaper called Louis. He had absolutely infuriated William about something. William wanted to suspend him, but the clerk misplaced his file and he couldn’t put the paperwork through. He was sent on a job in the north; should have been quite straightforward, but there was a whole pack of demons there. Poor fellow didn’t make it, but he took the entire pack with him.”

“You see?” he asked. “One misplaced file preserved an untold number of souls.”

“Seems like an awfully complicated way of doing things,” she retorted.

“I’m inclined to agree, but why the Will works in the way it does is a question I cannot answer.”

“Gracious!” she said after a moment’s silence. “So that little fellow, who looked like he was sure I was going to bite his nose off every time I came into the room, had actually been in the Presence of the Higher Up?”

“You had me convinced you were a meek, little butler. You are not the only accomplished performer among the Shinigami, my dear.”

“What about you?” She took his hand and ran her finger across the scar around his little finger. “You know who these – these powerful individuals are. You’ve had contact with the Messengers. Have you ever been in the Presence?”

“Once.”

“What was it like?”

“Indescribable.” He smiled down at her. “I am not trying avoid your question, but it is something that no words can encompass.”

“How did you end out there?” she asked. “I don’t suppose you just knocked on the door and said, ‘Excuse me, do you have a moment?’”

Undertaker laughed at her irreverence. “The Higher Up is everywhere. I was causing a bit of trouble.”

“Must have been more than a bit,” she said with a grin. Grell sat up and turned to face him, drawing up her knees and wrapping her arms around her legs.

“It’s a long story, but I don’t suppose you’ll be satisfied until you hear it,” he chuckled, tapping her nose with his forefinger. “Have you ever come across a soul you decided was worthy?”

She shook her head.

“There had been a demon; he fought so fiercely and I was badly injured.” He made a vague gesture towards his scars. “When I reviewed the record, there was nothing special there; nothing to draw any attention. Just a simple, hard-working husband and father who was thrown from his horse. Maybe it was my injuries, but I became very angry. Why shouldn’t a decent, honest fellow have a second chance? Who was I to judge what was exceptional? Who were they to disagree with me?” He stared into space for a moment. “I was probably half-mad from pain, but I refused to surrender the record and I injured several who tried to take it from me. Then it happened.”

Grell caught a lock of his silver hair and wove it around her fingers. “Was the soul returned?”

“No, but I knew such infinite love – and sorrow – for an instant. Every soul is precious and perfect to the Higher Up.”

“Is that why you retired?”

“Yes. Now it is growing very late, my dear.” He doused the candle. “You don’t want circles under your lovely eyes tomorrow, I’m sure.”

“Beast!” she giggled, setting her glasses aside and sliding under the covers. “Do you really think my eyes are lovely?”

“Yes, I do,” he replied with mock seriousness. “They are as the finest gemstones, mined in a fabulous land far away. Your skin is unblemished ivory, stained with the very pink of dawn. Your hair is a river of fire…”

“Oh! Please go on, darling,” she murmured sleepily.

He whispered nonsense to her until slumber claimed her and fell asleep holding a lock of her hair against his cheek.

XXXXXXXXXX

Undertaker was still sleeping when Grell woke the following morning. She perched her glasses on her nose and peered down at him. His hair had fallen away to reveal his scarred profile. So beautiful! And he had treated her with such kindness and courtesy, facing William down on her behalf.

She retreated to the water closet to wash and dress quickly. Her shirt was horribly wrinkled, she noted as she adjusted her sleeve garters and fastened her cuffs. In the kitchen, she briskly unpinned the sheets from the line and folded them. A sudden flash of memory assailed her: the steam rising as the laundry maid ironed the shirts, the housekeeper counting out sheets to the waiting chamber maids and a loving voice scolding her: _“You mustn’t let them find you down here again. The linen room is no place for the young master.”_

Again! Yet most of her recent memories had been sweet; of places where she felt secure and wanted. She shook her head. If she had to be visited by memories, these were infinitely preferable to those of the people who had scorned and hated her. There were plenty of those in this life.

She made tea and toast and carried it to the back.

“Good morning, my dear,” he said. “I was afraid you had abandoned me.”

“Don’t be silly. A lady would never leave without thanking her host.”

“I shall take great pleasure in contemplating how you might best thank me,” answered with a grin.

“And I shall take great pleasure in doing so,” she said with a laugh. She could feel the warmth creeping up her cheeks as she laid a hand on his forehead. “You seem much better today. Another quiet day and I think we can say you are fully recovered.”

He captured her hand and pressed his lips against her palm. “And then, alas, you will leave me!”

She snatched her hand away and poured the tea, taking refuge in humour. “Oh my darling! We are as two ships that pass in the night.” She handed him a pot of strawberry jam. “I imagine you would like to get out of that nightshirt.”

“Indeed, I would. Perhaps, you might help me.”

“Please stop teasing me for a moment,” she said quietly. “You have been very sweet and kind to humour me the way that you have, but I will be on my way later today. You needn’t keep it up any longer.”

“Humouring you? What on earth do you mean?”

“You know what I mean,” she cried. “Acting as if I were attractive to you. Treating me like – like-“

“Like a lady?”

“Yes,” she said, staring at her hands, twisting in her lap. “I loved every moment I’ve spent with you.”

“Even washing my clothes and cleaning my kitchen?”

“Even that,” she whispered. “All I ever wanted was someone to look after. You made me feel needed and beautiful. I will never forget that.” She tossed her hair back. “So darling,” she said in an artificially cheerful tone, “once you’ve finished your breakfast, I’ll fetch your robes and see about making you some lunch before I toddle off.” She sipped at her tea. “Do try some of that jam, dear, it’s lovely.”

“Stop it,” he said between gritted teeth.

“Stop what, dear?” Her voice was brittle, but her lips were trembling. “There’s plenty of tea in the pot if that’s what you’re worried about and I can always make more.”

He stood abruptly. “Stay there,” he ordered. “Don’t you dare move an inch!” He stormed into the kitchen, muttering to himself.

Grell nervously twisted a button on her waistcoat. She should have kept up the pretense until she left; should have laughed and bantered and flirted as she always did and bid him an affectionately mocking goodbye. She swallowed hard. His last sight of her was not going to be with a runny nose and eyes swollen from weeping. A series of noises could be heard from the other room, accompanied by some very colourful language.

“Darling,” she called, “are you quite all right?”

“Never better!” he shouted back.

She heard a loud thump and muffled exclamation and, finally, he returned, fully dressed in his robes.

“I refuse to make a declaration in a nightshirt,” he said, adjusting his sash and pulling her to a standing position, holding her hands firmly between his. “Grell, my dear,” he began. “My dearest, dearest Grell.”

“Oh!” she said softly, staring down at their hands, unable to speak.

He took her chin between his thumb and forefinger and raised it to peer into her eyes. “My dear, I have not, for one moment, been humouring you, as you say, nor have I ever found you anything but beautiful.”

“But I’m not – not really-“

“You are every inch a lady where it matters: here,” he swept his thumb across her forehead, “and here.” He rested his hand on her heart. “You are a prickly, wild rose and I would be honoured to keep you close to my heart.”

He cupped her face with his hands and lowered his head when a loud knock was heard, accompanied by much rattling of the door.

“Damn,” she giggled. “I think I recognize those voices outside.”

“So do I,” he sighed. “I suppose I should let them in.”

“No darling. You stay here. Let me handle this.” She shrugged on her coat, tossed her hair and went into the shop.

“Where is Undertaker?” Ciel Phantomhive demanded as she opened the door. “I require some information. It is vital.”

“Of course it is,” she cooed. “The queen’s puppy dog wouldn’t be here otherwise.” She lounged against one of the coffins. “Hello Sebastian dear. Lovely to see you again. I’m afraid Undertaker is indisposed. You’ll have to come back tomorrow.”

“Grell,” he said, his voice silky smooth as always, “what have you done with him?” He grasped her hard by her shoulders.

“Oh Sebastian!” she moaned. “So fierce and forceful! You make me forget I’m a lady.” She melted against him as Undertaker called from the back. “What’s that, dear?” she answered. “Oh very well. He will see you for just a moment. The child is to remain here.”

Sebastian flung her aside roughly and strode from the room.

Grell perched herself on a coffin and watched Ciel roam around. “I wouldn’t touch that if I were you,” she said sweetly as he picked up a shawl. “You don’t know what the last person wearing it died of.” She began to laugh when he dropped it in disgust. “It would be such a shame if you were to sicken and fade away before Sebastian got your soul nice and fat.”

She posed provocatively on the coffin. “Would you like to know why I killed your aunt?” she asked, baring her teeth.

“Be silent!”

“Because she chose you over me. Pity she didn’t know what a loathsome creature you really are.”

“Sebastian!” he shouted. “Aren’t you done yet?”

“You know, one day I’m going to read your record with great interest. See for myself the nasty little being inside.” She leaned back on her elbows, arching her back while she licked her lips. “They call me a monster, but I didn’t choose to become one, darling.”

The door to the back opened and Sebastian emerged. “Oh hello, Bassy,” she purred. “Did you miss me? Your young master and I were having such an interesting chat. Weren’t we, dear?”

“Sebastian!” Ciel complained. “How could you leave me alone with this freak?”

As Sebastian placed a protective hand on the boy’s shoulder, Grell leapt from the coffin and bent down so her face was level with Ciel’s. She poked him hard in the chest. “I was taught, growing up, that a nobleman never insulted a lady, no matter what her station. Pity how standards have fallen these days. But then you only have a servant to educate you.” She straightened up and smiled wolfishly. “Ta-ta Sebastian. So nice of you to drop by.” Thoroughly relishing the puzzlement on both of their faces, she propped open the door and, still smiling, ushered them out.

Oh that was satisfying! Dangerous to bait the boy like that, never mind Sebastian, but oh so enjoyable. She knew herself to be fearless – her instructors had said foolhardy – in combat, but when faced with the assurance of someone like Ciel Phantomhive she took refuge in an audacity that repelled everyone she met. Except one man and she knew that his kindness had given her the courage to laugh in their faces.

“My dear,” he said from the doorway, “that was quite a show. They both looked thoroughly confused.”

“Oh good!” she cried clasping her hands together. “Do you think Sebastian was disappointed that I didn’t attempt to cover him with kisses?” She sighed. “I suppose he was relieved.

“Why do I have a suspicion that you are not nearly as fond of Sebastian as he believes?”

“Really darling! Need you ask? He is a demon. He is devastatingly handsome,” she added with an arch smile, “and sometimes we have found it necessary to work together, much as you do, but, if the day comes, I shall slice him in half without a moment’s regret.”

“You really are a superb actress. But what would you have done if he ever took you up on your offer?”

“I don’t think you want to know the answer to that, but, I assure you, he finds me completely repulsive and foolish and easily dismissed. So much safer that way, don’t you think?”

“You are a wicked, wicked woman,” he laughed.

“I am,” she agreed. “I’m a freak and a monster and a murderess. It says so in my file at the Dispatch. Signed by William, no less.” She pushed past him into the kitchen. “Is cold meat and cheese all right for lunch? If not, I can make a quick trip to the market before I leave. There’s another loaf of bread and a ham in the larder. Since you were an absolute beast and wouldn’t share your receipt for your biscuits you’ll have to make your own-” She began to bustle around the small room.

Undertaker caught her by the arm and pulled her close. “My dear, would you stop chattering for a moment. Our recent guests interrupted a rather important conversation. One I would like to continue very much.”

Her hand shaking, Grell reached up to push his hair back. What was it about his eyes? They were the same green-gold as her own and the rest of the Shinigami. But his were fringed with pale, thick lashes and gleamed with wisdom, humour and tenderness. She pulled his face close to her own. “People will say you are mad.”

“Some already do.”

“They will repeat dreadful tales about me.” She traced his scar and outlined his pale lips with her thumb.

“And I shall deal with them in the same way that I did with dear William.”

“Really?” She began to giggle nervously. “You’ll be my champion? My knight in shining armour? My valiant defender? My stalwart protector? My-”

“I am really beginning to think that there is only one way to make you be quiet,” he said, lowering his mouth to cover hers.

Grell moaned softly and pressed herself against him as he gradually coaxed her mouth to open beneath his. She could feel his tongue delicately outlining her lips and shivered as it slipped into her mouth to touch hers. She had been kissed by men who wanted pain and blood and had obliged, but she had never had a man’s lips draw from her a pulsating warmth that throbbed in her core. She had never felt a man’s tongue tenderly explore her mouth and caress her lips with his own. Sudden tears spilled down her face.

“My dear,” he whispered. “Are you all right?”

She took his face between his hands and smiled brilliantly. “I’m perfect,” she murmured. “I’m beautiful.”

**Author's Note:**

>  _The Curse Upon Mitre Square_ is a real novel about Jack the Ripper published in 1888. _The Demon's Bride_ is a figment of my imagination.


End file.
